


yeah we bring it every time

by DarkBeauty_890



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Episode Tag, M/M, Mental Health Issues, because that last one fucked us up, happy ending as per usual, i wrote this in my new owl pyjamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkBeauty_890/pseuds/DarkBeauty_890
Summary: Stop texting me, Isak had said. And meant it. 
Because how could he sort out the mess of his head, the mess of his brittle, fractured relationship with Even if the man was texting him, pulling him back into his web of killer smiles and weed-tinted kissed and song lyrics that at a glance look so ridiculous, but have such deeper meanings. 
(Or: Isak comes to terms with a lot o things regarding himself, Even, and their relationship.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! Guess who's back bacl back again.... it me.
> 
> This is a bit of an introspective piece on our baby Isak, but ofcourse Even pops his beautiful blonde head in as well. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Stop texting me,_ Isak had said. And meant it.

Because how could he sort out the mess of his head, the mess of his brittle, fractured relationship with Even if the man was texting him, pulling him back into his web of killer smiles and weed-tinted kissed and song lyrics that at a glance look so ridiculous, but have such deeper meanings.

Isak thinks Even is like that. At a glance, suave and cool and beautiful, but deeper is something else entirely. Something jagged, not broken but definitely not at all what Isak had thought he was. And it hurts because Isak held up this boy on a pedestal, excusing his odd outbursts and ignoring the signs that there was something he was missing, something that Even was clearly hiding from him. He let it go because it was Even and he cared about Even and he loved the way Even made him feel.

But how did Even feel about him?

_Do you think he’s in love with you?_ Sonja had asked, her expression cruel, _he’s not._

Yes, Isak had thought that Even loved him. And Isak thought that maybe he loved Even as well.

Eskild had told him he’d get over the heartbreak. Isak’s not so sure. How can you go with being with someone so completely and fully, talking about marriage for God’s sake and then it just be over so violently?

Isak chuckles mournfully; they had been talking about marriage. _As teenagers._ Had that been another side effect of Even’s mania? If so, what was Isak’s excuse for the happiness and hope that bloomed in his chest? For the images of coming home at the end of a long day to Even’s smile and Even’s laugh and Even kissing him into the mattress and _Even Even Even_. It all fucking came back to Even. He hates him. But he loves him so much more.

Even had respected Isak’s request and hadn’t sent him another text. But that didn’t stop Isak from checking his phone religiously and staring at their conversations for hours as he laid down to sleep, hoping in the back of his mind against hope that three little dots would bubble up and signify that Even was typing, that Even was thinking about him as much as he was thinking about Even.

But the dots never appeared and Isak had no one to blame except himself.

Isak googled mania and researched for hours upon hours in between his periods of sleeping and eating and crying. He studied words like _depression_ and _highs_ and _lows_ and associated words like _bipolar_ and _institutions_ and _medications_.

Had Isak really missed this much? Had he really grown up with a mentally ill mother and not seen the signs in the person he had grown closest too? The person he had shared a bed with? Had he really failed this badly?

Or had Even been this desperate to keep this part of himself a secret from Isak?

_Why_?

Well, okay, maybe he knew why he wasn’t exactly the most appealing person to tell, but he had trusted Even with almost everything about him. He had trusted Even mind, body, soul and Even fucking didn’t mention that this huge part of his life?

He’s so angry. He’s so hurt. He’s so phenomenally overwhelmed with a hundred conflicting, roiling emotions threatening to tear him apart.

Life was so much fucking easier in the closet.

“Isak,” Isak looks up at the sound of his voice, eyes bleary from ready yet another article on ‘the mind of a bipolar’. Morbidly, Isak thinks that if he put in half as much effort as he had trying to understand Even as he did his schoolwork, maybe he’s be at the top of his class. Noora is standing in the doorway, three fishcakes on a plate and glass of water in hand. “Here- you haven’t eaten and you have to leave for school soon. So…”

“Thanks.” Isak responded late, grabbing the plate and water from Noora’s hands. His voice was scratchy, either from disuse or all of the crying.

Noora smiled faintly, “How- how are you feeling?”

Isak blinked at her blankly. Noora winced.

“I’m fine,” he finally said. “I need to get ready for school.”

That was that, and Noora left with a small sigh.

School was, to put it lightly, hell. He couldn’t focus on anything. His friends, who had either heard from the grape vine (Jonas who he had called sobbing in the middle of the night on his way home from the hotel) said nothing about Even while before their first and last question always seemed to be how Even was and when they were going to see him again.

Sana could sense something was off and she prodded and prodded until he had to leave in the middle of biology, eyes watering violently, ignoring her whispered apologies for going too far.

Even, the fucking man of the hour, was nowhere and everywhere at the same time. He didn’t see him once throughout the day, but he was there in the gym room where they had kissed and discussed their parents. He was there in the stairwell when he met Isak’s friends and where the very first blatant sign of something being wrong could have been noticed. He was there in the cafeteria when Isak ordered a cheese toastie and there was no cardamom on it and Isak felt so sick he had to throw it out.

Isak existed in a bubble of missing Even and being afraid for Even and hating himself for ever letting himself be in this position in the first place. Or maybe that wasn’t true. He didn’t hate himself at all and that was a fucking gift. He didn’t hate himself for being gay, he just hated that the boy he was so close to coming out for isn’t an option at the moment.

But now, he was out of class and had no real desire to do anything. Usually he’d head over to their café and he’s wait for Even to get out of class. Usually they would go back to his place and laugh and talk and smoke and _be_ _together_.

Isak sighs and heads to his locker. He’s halfway down the hallway when he gets the oddest feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like something was about to happen. His heart was beating double time, his palms were clammy and his face hot. It wasn’t until staring at the peacefully shut locker door that Isak understood why his body was reacting to nothing. Not nothing- memory. Like a fucking Pavlovian dog. When he and Even weren’t together, weren’t speaking or texting, there was another way they communicated. Isak didn’t know at this moment whether he wanted the tradition to continue.

He wouldn’t. He would. No- not now that Isak had made in painfully clear that he couldn’t have Even fucking with his head the way he always seems to do.

But sure enough, as Isak pulled the door to his locker open, a slip of paper fall out. He took a breath, glancing all around the empty hallways. A small part of him said ignore it, _crumple it up and throw it away_. Another, bigger, part of him said _open it, you miss him so much, open it._

So, he crouches down to the floor and picks the folded notebook paper and opens it, propping himself up against the locker door.

The paper, like others before it, was split down the middle. One side was titled ‘in this universe’ while the other was ‘in a parallel universe’. Isak didn’t even glance at the drawing below before he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He shoved them back, swiping desperately at the corners for strays.

In this universe Isak stood alone at his locker. His cartoon expression was closed off, sad. Under the lonely picture, Even had written

  _in a universe you found out in the worst way possible_

The other picture, the parallel universe, cartoon Isak and Even were holding hands at Isak’s locker. Both expressions cheesy and happy and Even was holding Isak’s backpack. In this dream universe Even had written:

_in a universe that I had explained to you that I’m sick, but that it doesn’t change the way I feel about you and it never will and we’re happy forever and ever_

Isak lets out a pained noise, turning to slowly bang his forehead against the locker adjacent to his opened one. It hurts. Oh god it hurts so much that Isak wants to curl into a ball right here and cry. He wants to go back to their day in the hotel room, before everything had gone to shit. He wants Even. God he wants Even.

Isak opens his eyes, not even noticing that they had shut. He clutches the note to his chest and notices another paper nestled in his locker, lying unassumingly on top of his Biology book.

He grabs for it, sniffling all the way.

This paper was divided up into 6 parts and Isak lets out a real sob at the words on the sheet.

In this universe, the first box says

_I love you_

A parallel universe

_I love you_

Another parallel universe

_I love you_

It goes on and on until the sixth and last box.

_In every single universe that has an Isak and an Even in it._

_I love you_

“Even.” Isak whispers, tears leaking freely. He pulls out his phone, uncaring of the consequences if a teacher were to walk out. He dials Even’s number and waits, sniffing, coughing, _feeling_ until he feels like he’s going to burst. The phone rings and rings and rings but Even doesn’t pick up. “Come on, baby, pick up.”

He reaches the dial tone and Isak cancels the call, only to ring him again. He lets out a frustrated growl when he reaches the same result as before.

“Fucking shit,” Isak snaps, slamming his locker door shut. “Fucking, fucking, shit. _Why do you never answer your phone?_ ”

Isak rests his forehead against the smooth metal of the locker, trying to control his breathing, trying to resist devolving into frustrated sobs. He thinks it’s a wonder that no one has come out to investigate all of this noise, but Isak has done a pretty good job of fading into the background of his own life.

He raises a hand and slams it against the side door, feeling the quivering of metal against his cheek.

“You know, you slamming it like that is probably why it never opens for you.”

Isak jerks back at the familiar voice, tired and nervous but unmistakable. He turns around.

Even stands there, in all of his hooded glory. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and cheeks slightly sunken in. His hair, usually in an artful twist, lies greasy and flat.

He’s beautiful.

“Hi,” Isak says meekly, not at all concerned about how much his voice is breaking.

“Hey.” Even holds up his cell phone, the home page signifying two missed calls from _Baby <3_. “I got your calls.”

All as once Isak wants to cry again. He needs to change Even’s fucking contact name. To something like _love_ or _man of my life_ or _Cardamom_ because he makes everything better or something stupidly sweet like Even has for him. But that’s a real fucking metaphor, isn’t it? Even does so much for him, so much sweetness and all Isak does is fuck up and he left Even when Even needed him most and he misses him so much.

There is so much left unspoken between them. Maybe even too much. But that doesn’t stop Isak from dropping his backpack and sheets of paper to the ground and reaching Even in three purposeful strides. Even accepts him with open arms, as he always does, and Isak doesn’t hesitate at all to bring their lips together. It’s an apology; it’s an acceptance of loving Even- all of him. Every part of him.

It’s weird how much it feels like coming home. Like taking a breath of air after breathing in nothing but dark, briny water for days.

Even pulls him closer, arms coming to lock around his waist. Isak drapes his over Even’s shoulder, running his hand through Even’s hair. Every kiss is a validation of their love, every nip is a benediction and Jesus Christ when did Isak get so fucking cliché?

Somewhere in the background, the bell rings and students start flowing out of class. Even makes to pull back, mindful of Isak’s hesitance to be seen in public. And Isak lets him for a solid moment, unsteeling his arms from Even’s neck. He doesn’t move away though. He doesn’t think he could. Even’s laser-gaze is on his, eyes soft, crinkled just a bit at the corners.

Isak hears his name behind him among all of the chatter of the crowded hallways. He doesn’t turn. Instead, he slips his pointer finger into the collar of Even’s hoodie and pulls him in again, kissing him in front of everyone- all of their classmates, teachers, fuck, maybe even God himself. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, _he doesn’t care_.

Because Even is here with him and he loves every bit of him. Every bruised, imperfect bit of him.

“I love you,” he whispers against Even’s lips, kissing them again when they quirk into a smile, “I love you and I’m sorry. I love you so much.”

“I should have told you,” Even responds in the same hushed voice. Isak wasn’t ignorant of the looks they were getting, or of the catcalls and jeers and cheers of the show they just put on. But this conversation was just for them. “I just didn’t want you to look at me and see someone who wasn’t good for you. I can be good for you, Isak, I swear I can be.”

“You’ve already saved me,” Isak says, calling back to Even’s mania infused spiel in their hotel room. “I’m on the balcony and you’ve saved me.”

Even laughs softly, “You saved me back.”

There’s more to be said. In depth conversations about what Even’s illness means for them, about how Isak can handle it in a way that is there for Even without ever becoming a kind of warden that Sonja had slipped in to.

But as much as Isak is fucking terrified about everything, he’s not worried that they’ll make it work. Because the hard work is done. They’ve already saved each other.

“Do you want to meet my parents?” Isak suddenly said, flinching at the whiplash clear upon Even’s face. Even’s lips part in surprise and Isak leans in to kiss them again, just a quick peck, “You don’t have to. I just- there’s a Christmas concert thing and I told my dad I wanted to bring you but he said that my mom wouldn’t like it, but then I came out to my mom and she- she said she loved me and I think that means she’d like to meet you too-“

Even cups his cheek, sliding his thumb over Isak’s cheekbone. “You told your parents about me?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to meet them?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Isak blinked, “Really?”

“I love you,” Even said, swiping his thumb over Isak’s lip before leaning in and kissing him, “I want to meet your parents. And I want you to meet mine. And I want to stay at your place tonight. Because I hate my bed when you’re not in it.”

Isak grinned, and shrugged out of Even’s hold. “So fucking cheesy.”

The student body had mostly cleared out by this point- though a few curious on lookers made it a point to look busy when Isak eyed them. He grabbed his backpack from the floor and the drawings Even had painstakingly sketched, folded them, and readied them to be added to the collection he had inside his bedside table.

“Are you ready?” Even asks, sliding Isak’s backpack from his should and slinging it over his own. He held a hand out, which Isak accepted without a second thought.

“Yeah,” Isak said, not sure if he meant _ready to go home_ or _ready to do this relationship thing for real_ , “Let’s fucking do this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pleasse leave me some kudos or and perhaps a comment. I love to know what ya'll are thinking about my work, the show, or hell even life. Talk to me!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr where I post a lot of drabbles ranging from text conversations between the boys and Eskild being Eskild. User is shadeandadidas.
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
